


Bloody Awful

by soundingsea



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-27
Updated: 2004-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundingsea/pseuds/soundingsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're both terrible poets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Awful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Willshenillshe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Willshenillshe).



> Written for the Willaficathon in ferretsrus. Setting: Post-AtS 5.16. Spoilers: through AtS 5.4 - "Hellbound". Thanks: to flurblewig for the short-notice beta. She's in no way responsible for the poetry.

> A pair of black-winged birds who soar the night  
> Red beaks and claws compel a silent cry  
> On edge against the dying of the light  
> O'er rooftops, vanes we spread our wings and fly.  
> Alone so long but found once more our ways  
> In pain both loved, both lost the same strong girl  
> Our feathers scorched like moths in flames those days  
> But dusk emerging now lets them unfurl.  
> In truth, not birds of prey but yet not men  
> We walk alone, no other feels this spark  
> Not foes nor friends but lovers once again  
> And side by side we face the coming dark.  
> Our story writ in blood and pain and sin  
> Together we can once more fresh begin.

Spike swore and tore the top sheet off the legal pad. He crumpled it and tossed it at Angel's blinds, still drawn as evening approached because the lazy sod was still sleeping.

Spike regarded the other vampire in the bed with a wry smile and muttered, "He did say he liked my poetry. That doesn't say much, with his taste, but..."

He hopped out from under the sheets, squinting in the muted light as he crossed the room, and bent to retrieve the troublesome sonnet. Another crushed and discarded piece of paper lay nearby, and Spike smoothed it and regarded it with curiosity.

> I feel the tug of time and tide  
> wind-swept in bitterness, soaked in salt  
> pulling my unwilling soul to your side  
> giving me pause, calling a halt
> 
> years gone by, you trembled under me  
> ugly truth need not be spoken  
> past that time and yet still so full of need  
> skin tight smooth taut willing sacrifice  
> lost souls cleaving one to another  
> slick bodies seeking, tasting, grasping  
> salty-sweet taste of family  
> understand that burden of memory  
> loneliness, pain melt away  
> fill my emptiness  
> I'll fill yours in turn  
> damnation loves company  
> stripped of false pretense  
> need no recompense  
> old trust made new again, not fragile   
> open to your gaze

Spike laughed quietly but shook his head. "He shouldn't write poetry either." He opened the window, breathing in the crisp air of twilight, and shredded both sheets of paper into strips of confetti, letting them fall.

Returning to their bed, he stretched luxuriantly against the length of Angel's wakening body. The poetry of teeth and tongue against soft skin and hard cocks would be enough for them both. Hearts, once involved, would only break.


End file.
